Lactose Intolerant
by Shmarah
Summary: Four girls at a kotatsu, one question: If you love your little sister, why is she locked in the basement, exactly? No, why is she insane, exactly? No, no, here's the question: what kind of vampire IS that psycho-ward patient, exactly? Alright, so three questions. Remilia Scarlet almost wishes she were unable to provide the answers.
1. Chapter 1

This is short, because it's an introduction, but I hope you'll like it; it's been an idea in my head for EVER, and I recently got the drive to write it. (Thank you, Sonanoka21093.)

* * *

Four people, whom you could call young ladies by appearance, sat around a kotatsu on a cold, winter day.

One clad in her pajamas, having just awoken to two of the others visiting her shrine in the early afternoon. Reimu Hakurei refused to move more than five feet; she reached sleepily to the bowl of mikan in the center of their circle.

Sitting directly to her left, greedily devouring the tangerines that nearly symbolized the coming of winter, was a black-white clad magician, her witch's hat thrown unceremoniously on the floor behind her.

Another, her silver braids swinging with the motion of her turning head, gazing through the rice paper screens at the shining snow, kept one hand by her lady's back, ready to serve.

Her lady. Me.

The topic of conversation was laid-back and relaxing, fitting the mood of the current situation quite nicely. Like a bowl of mikan on a kotatsu.

"It's such a shame you couldn't bring the other one… Erm, your sister…" Marisa pondered, scratching her messy hat-head as she eyed the side of the kotatsu that remained unoccupied.

"Flandre," I said, with a smile.

Reimu actually sat up at the sound of my sister's name. "Ohohoho, no way. China and Patchouli better be keeping her well entertained back at the SDM because I am _not _letting that kid into my shrine, nu-uh. Said that to her when I met her."

Sakuya scoffed. "Reimu, dear, don't pretend as if you met under very good circumstances."

At this, Marisa giggled. "Are there actually good circumstances under which to meet her? When she's feeling so congenial that she'll only detonate thirty percent of your body mass?"

The two humans at the other side of the kotatsu erupted with laughter, and I, the look on my face a bit worse than peeved, was only less comforted by the laughter Sakuya was fighting to stifle.

"Good Kami, Remi-san, why do you even put up with her anyway? Why does anyone in your house put up with her, Sakuya do you actually feed her? Are you two even seriously, related? Like, by blood? I mean, good Shinto gods excuse me, but, like, your hair is _blue._" With this, Reimu only fell backwards with more laughter, apparently unable to sense my unamusement.

"Technically, no, we are not related, but asking if we're related by blood is a redundant question to ask a vampire," I answered, patiently.

"Yeah, Remi's got the blood of half of Gensokyo," Marisa interrupted.

I continued unfazed. "To answer your other question, Reimu, I do not just tolerate my sister's difficulty in handling, but I take great pleasure in it. Not only do I owe it to her, I love her very much."

"Then why is she in the basement? No, better question, why has she been there for, like, 400 _years?" _Marisa asked, her tone suddenly growing more serious the weight of her words shaking the room into silence.

What was an unplanned tea party in the shrine now had three out of four beings feeling as though they were hanging off a precipice on a thread waiting for an answer. I looked up at Sakuya to see her staring at her shoes.

I sat back, and instructed my maid and friend to take a seat. Now was the time to get comfortable. I took a deep breath and looked Marisa in the eye.

"She wasn't always like this."


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so I ended up writing a lot because I had a lot to write… I want to fill out this story as much as I feel it deserves, but then it's not much of a short story anymore, is it? Moving it to its own fic, as opposed to keeping it part of Gensokyo's Off Days. This isn't a very light story either; it's place there felt very inappropriate. ./shrugs

Not to mention I want to write a more fun short story for Flandre/Remi eventually.

* * *

Several days ago, as an answer to the request for children's fiction regarding vampires from the outside world, Patchouli provided me with a stack of 1/4th inch thick paperback books by the following tea time all belonging to the same, vapid literature series entitled, "My Sister The Vampire."

Despite being meant for 12-year-old prepubescent tweens, these books––meant to give the ever-BORED pursuer of self-improvement, Remilia Scarlet, a better understanding of how the outside world imagined us vampires–––were some of the hardest books to read that I had ever attempted in the couple hundred years I have been living.

Now, don't misunderstand me: having learned English a long, long time ago, the language was no challenge to me, and it's not as if the vocabulary was, at any point, more complex than I could understand. It's not as if the vocabulary was, at any point, more complex than the _ice fairy _could understand. And, unlike my dear Patchouli, I enjoyed quite plenty of the outside world while I lived there, and memories were still fresh in my mind even as I continued to reside here: the Scarlet Devil Mansion on the Misty Lake. Gensokyo. Save occasional cultural references, the book's contemporary premise was of no challenge to my comprehension.

Yes, the thing that made this book difficult, and nearly traumatically so, was how _ignorant and vile _it felt to me, like trying to feed a dietician low fat sugar cakes. Ironically, you'd think a story about vampires, sisters, goths, teenage girls… you'd think it'd appeal to the childish, vampiric gothic lolita mind of a caring older sister that is Remilia Scarlet. You might even think I'd be able to relate to the "My Sister the Vampire" books by the good Sienna Mercer. And believe me, I mean no malice towards Miss Mercer at all; her books seem highly appealing to their targeted audience.

I am not part of the targeted audience.

I could not relate a single element of the short novels to myself at any moment.

Instead, as my eyes (when they weren't staring at the ceiling as I groaned with impatience) scanned the unsophisticated text on its thin, Roman lettered pages, another girl, another life incessantly came up in my mind.

_Flandre._

When one thinks of "vampire," I actually do have a relatively well-formed idea of what comes to mind: bat wings, full moons, blood drinking, more bats, Dracula, the whole gothic full moon scarlet red devilish works. For the most part, I fit the description as if it were written for me exclusively. Maybe it was. Maybe Remilia Scarlet is the epitome of vampire.

Multicolored crystals levitating with a gravity to what could be mistaken for wrought-iron tree branches if they weren't growing out of one's back, the ability to multiply and cause absolutely anything to explode, wielder of the Lævateinn… My sister, the vampire, does not resemble the modern idea of vampire at all. I could more easily convince someone that she were a flower fairy, as long as they didn't see enough of her to discover her blatant lack of sanity…

No, no that was not a joke. It wasn't meant to be funny.

No, my sister, the vampire, is nothing like a pureblood vampire, because that much she is _not._

I said it, didn't I? I said it.

No, no… She wasn't always like this.


	3. Chapter 3

"How many _times_, how many?"

"I-I don't know… I'm so sorry…"

She watched as her crestfallen, apologetic voice brought exactly the reaction she'd been desiring out of her sister. With a sigh, her face flooded with guilt, she kneeled to equate the slight height difference.

"Please, don't do it again. And Patchouli-san?"

"Yes, Imouto-sama."

"I tell you yet again not to let her abuse you like this." The girl, her sister clutching the sleeve of her robe, fought to keep a stern gaze at the magician that resided with the siblings in their mansion. "She needs to be weaned off of human blood; it will be difficult, but it has been done, as you have told me. Do remember your anemia and the danger it gives you. You can't afford to be giving your blood out."  
"Thank you, though." She says after a pause, giving in to the better of her. "Your heart is in the right place. "

"Well, of course it is. I'd be worried if it weren't," smirked the witty Miss Knowledge, never bothering to look up from her book, except to readjust the bloody gauze currently adhered to her neck with medical tape. Anemic she may have been, she was young, and she was strong. The Scarlet sister really went all out to take care of her, even if she could quite obviously do that herself. What was a little blood loss to one of the only, and possibly one of the strongest, magicians in the country?

Still holding her sister's whimpering body, the girl impatiently attempting to scold Patchouli pinched the bridge of her nose and attempted to clarify. "What I mean is though I value your evident concern for my sister's wellbeing, when she comes to you asking to drink your blood, _please _do not comply, for the sake of the both of you!"

Although Patchouli wished to argue that she could not be negatively impacted by the loss of blood unless she were to lose a substantial amount more than was needed for the little vampire's appetite to be satisfied, she knew to do otherwise if she wished to return to the peace of an empty library.

"Whatever you say, Miss Flandre. I should suggest you bring Remilia to bed now, she gets so sleepy when she's full."

No, she was not crazy as a result of being fed from. She said Flandre.

And with that, Flandre Scarlet guided her older sister to their bedroom. She removed the blue-haired imp's shirt in favor of a night gown with openings for her bat-like wings, Remilia's head bobbing up and down with exhaustion until she was finally tucked her into bed. Despite the handful she could be, Flandre couldn't stifle a smile as she watched her older (though smaller and much more childish) sister fall asleep before her blue head even hit the pillow, a thumb hanging endearingly out of the corner of her mouth.

Yes, Flandre thought, as she shut the door of Remilia's bedroom; the little girl, despite being much _much _older, had really forced her to grow up. To mature, to learn how to take care of another person. To love.

She supposed that such would tend to happen in the event that a girl adopted a vampire as a sister.

She turned to leave, but stole one last look at the face of little Remilia Scarlet, (previously Remilia Tepes, although Flandre doubted the sincerity in her claim to have descended from Dracula himself) the girl she had come to hold so, so dearly.

She was met with a stupendous pain that seemed to seize and proceed to wring out every vein in her body without mercy.

"Flan-chan? F-flan-chan?"

Unsettled by the sound of desperate shrieking, Remilia snapped awake at the hideous sight that was her adoptive sister's bloodshot eyes as she twisted, convulsing, on the floor of her bedroom.

The writhing Flandre, her blonde hair strewn across the floor amiss as her body wracked to another wave of intense pain, was only just able to choke out, wincing, for her to get Patchouli, before it all turned black…

* * *

[Pssst, yes, that is Flandre. Anyone need explanation? Set in the human world, Flandre herself is human and has adopted Remilia as her younger sister, despite Remilia being probably 200 years older than her at this point. Vampire ages. Sakuya, Meiling, and Koakuma are yet to live with them, but they have befriended Patchouli (she came for the free food and the library) and command over a group of fairy maids.]

PS: Thanks to Viyero for giving me the heads-up on the Japanese/English honorific stuff. :]


	4. Chapter 4

From black faded into her mind the chipping paint of the ceiling that sheltered Flandre Scarlet's bedroom.

"…kocytes and similar to arsenic, but I'm quite sure she'll be just fin––ah…! It appears she's awakened."

Patchouli's voice, as her face slowly shook into focus, were soon followed by Remilia's, the words unintelligible as they were muttered into Flandre's chest, whose head collided with Flandre's bosom almost instantaneously with her return to consciousness.

"Flandreflandreflandreflandre IthoughtyouweredeadIwassosca redyouweresoshakyandyoureyes andI-"

"Remi, shh." Enduring the initial dull ache in my joints as blood rushed back into my limbs like pins and needles, I sat up so I could hold my sister's head in my hands. My eyes turned from her blue head to Patchouli's eyes as she cleared her throat.

"As I was trying to explain to Remilia-chan, it seems you've had a serious allergic reaction. I'm not sure as to what yet, but for now we'll review what you've been in contact with lately and...Remilia should really be getting back to bed, shouldn't she?"

The question was unnecessary; Remilia's droning had faded into quiet mumbling until she had finally fallen asleep, her worries settled by Flandre's awakening.

Patchouli, seeing none else available for the job at 1:45 AM, sighed and summoned the strength to pick Remilia up.

Via telekinesis.

"You really are lazy, aren't you, Patchouli? When's the last time you've changed out of those pajamas, might I ask?" Flandre chuckled, lightening the mood.

"Oh, shut up," responded the magician, who, with a flick of the finger, opened the door to Remilia's bedroom and set the young vampire into bed, even bothering to pull the quilt up to her infantile chin. The equally petite blonde girl was only amused by the sight; it made her a bit jealous sometimes, but she didn't know how she'd be able to deal without the purple magician on hand, despite her bookish, shut-in qualities. Flandre spoke up as the purple witch turned to leave for the library.

"Patchouli-san, wait. I…"

She turned, face composed and emotionless, as always.

Flandre lay back on her pillow with a grin, keeping her eyes on Miss Knowledge's deep, placid purple ones.

"I just want to say, thank you. You've always been a really, really great help. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Somehow, even Patchouli Knowledge couldn't hold back a smile with that. Silently recrossing the room, Patchouli pulled the frail girl into a hug.

The silence was broken with the sound of both of their screaming, Flandre's body shaking violently with an intense spasm of pain. The girl in her arms throbbing, blood pulsing, heart palpitating–– Patchouli was only just able to pull her usually cool self together as she ran out of the room to wake the fairy maids and grab a handful of restorative potions before the swelling, wheezing Flandre Scarlet could suffocate with anaphylactic shock.

* * *

Super short chapters compared to my usual, I know, but it was originally a short story, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Happy 10th Anniversary, Embodiment of the Scarlet Devil! (Fully released August 11, 2002.)

I wanted to upload a speed-drawn EoSD picture but I started a bit too late, so it looks like it'll be up on my dA tomorrow. :]

In celebration, enjoy chapter that somehow combines drama and blatant fanservice lines.

* * *

"I mean, anaphylactic shock! It's an allergic reaction, obviously––"

"But to _what?!"_

"Remilia!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I swear I… I'm just… so scared…"

"That's understandable. Just… go to the kitchen. Breakfast should be ready by now."

"Y-yes, Patchy-sama."

Hearing the two closest people to her, her only friends, audibly at tears over her… It wasn't an easy thing. Flandre lay awake, squinting at the ceiling, and realized the following things:

A. She was in Patchouli's study, on a futon pushed hastily to be adjacent to Patchouli's desk.

B. It was morning.

C. Patchouli had stayed up all night with her.

D. The previous realization wracked her body with pain.

Not just guilt, not simply emotional pain; she winced, back arching, and forced herself to take a deep breath.

Allergic to what, indeed?

Flandre Scarlet forced herself to think outside what she thought was practical; in the world she was plunged into, filled with vampire girls and magicians, she realized the need to think the unthinkable. Predict the impossible, believe the inconceivable.

What hit her did so with more force and shock than the last night had altogether.

She cleared her voice, and yet only slightly louder than how she normally talked she managed to call out, "Patchouli, come here, quickly…"

The magician, usually tortoise-like in movement, was at her bedside in seconds.

"Patchouli."

"Yes?"

Flandre took a deep breath and turned her face away, causing her blonde hair to tangle further, scattered astray across the pillow.

"Patchouli."

"…Yes…?"

"Tell me you love me."

Her eyes widened with shock, and Flandre could feel it, although she didn't dare look up.

"Wh-what do you…?"

"Just. Do it."

Although the girl was too fatigued to emit much volume, her urgency was conveyed, loud and clear.

Patchouli shrugged, blinking a few times in bewilderment. Though confused, she obeyed:

"Flandre, I love you."

The purple magician recoiled as she watched her dear friend twist, body overtaken by a sudden spasm, whimpering in agony. Patchouli's eyes widened further, and she was taken aback as she felt smacked in the face by sudden understanding.

Flandre, though she was hacking in a frightful coughing fit, held up a hand as a signal to prevent Patchouli from leaving the room. Within a few minutes, the girl was able to look up and chuckle, despite being filled with anything but joy:

"Looks like we've found what I'm allergic to."


End file.
